Selunite
by Crilladin
Summary: A young Cleric must do all she can to live up to the charge of her goddess. Contains all new Original Characters, set against the familiar background of the forgotten realms, after the Eruption of Mount Hotenow, and the Rebuilding of Neverwinter
1. Visions

**Chapter 1: Visions**

The alleyway was empty, save for the two figures silhouetted against the midday sun. The figures cut a stark contrast to one another; one standing tall, her armor shining in the dim light, while the other lay huddled upon the ground, drab and ragged. The cleric, for her amor clearly showed her profession, knelt besides the huddled figure while chanting quietly to herself. A pale blue glow soon emanated from her fingertips, snaking its way silently toward the prone figure on the ground. The soft blue light swirled around the huddled figure, before turning suddenly a deep black. The cleric sighed, shaking her head slowly. A detect life spell was perfect for finding those that clung to life by a thread, but it had shown this person to be quite gone. From the main street some distance away, came a voice rising above the din of the crowds there.

"Moonshadow! By the gods, Where have you wandered off to now? Gwenn! Gwenn!"

Gwenn stood and turned back toward the street. She glanced back to the poor soul that had expired in the alleyway, her eyes rimmed with the guilt she felt for this individual. It was never easy to be too late to save people, but it happened more often than Gwenn liked. Life in the city had improved in the days since Lord Neverember had taking over the administration of Neverwinter, but too many for Gwenn's liking still lived on the razor's edge of death. The poor soul in the alleyway had done nothing to deserve his fate, to die alone on the ground, but many more have shared that fate with many more likely too. Gwenn shook her head to clear her thoughts, and started back to the bustling street. She made a mental note to send the acolytes of the enclave back for the corpse, so that soul could at least have a decent burial. With that final thought, she strode back into the bright light of the bustling street.

Back in the street, Gwenn moved through the crowds with purpose, until she was standing before a man. This man, human by race but as humorless as an orc, stood glowering at her. His expression could be read by all nearby, and all that did gave the man a wide berth. As she approached, Gwenn dipped into a short bow before rising and speaking. " Father Wiltens, my apologies…" she began. Father Wiltens cut her off "Moonshadow! How many times must I tell you? You cannot just be wandering off! It is unseemly for a cleric of Selune to be rarely where she is supposed to be!" Gwenn could merely shrug." I am sorry father, but there are always those in the alleys that require aid. I was merely tending to those that needed the light of Selune. As a matter of fact, a poor soul has expired this day. We should dispatch the acolytes immediately." Father Wiltens visage did not soften." Gwenn Moonshadow, ever you have been headstrong in your pursuit of what you feel. You must learn your place as a cleric of our order. That place is not scampering about Neverwinter on some fools quest to save everyone. It is simply unrealistic. Now enough of this, let us complete our business and be back to the enclave."

The finality in his voice, as well as his callous disregard for those lives she seeks to save began to grate on her nerves, as it often did. In all the years that Gwenn had been in service to Father Wiltens, he often displayed a strong dislike for anyone not of his station. Gwenn saw this attitude as simply unacceptable in a follower of Selune. She believed the goddess they followed wished everyone to benefit from her gifts, not just those of a certain rank or station. But she had never made any headway with Father Wiltens on that front, or anyone else in the enclave for that matter. Gwenn was often told, berated about even, that the divine powers they were given could only be used on those most worthy of those gifts. Gwenn often suspected that worthiness coincided with who had the largest purse strings, but could never prove the correlation.

With Father Wiltens leading the way, they moved through the avenues of Neverwinter's market district. Of all the cities districts, this one was the most rebuilt from the cataclysm but still showed some signs of the damage from the event. The many stalls housed merchants from all corners of Faerun, selling their wares to an ever increasing population. Neverwinter had been truly devastated by the cataclysm of Mt. Hotenow's eruption. Little of the city had survived and the old districts had to be scrapped entirely, and the layout of the city replanned in the subsequent years. Compounding that job, was the fact that Neverwinter's citizenry had all but abandoned the city following the disaster, at least those that had survived. Only those with extreme loyalty to their city, and the extremely poor had remained. But in the years since, Neverwinter's people had shown their resilient and industrious nature, and rebuilt the city center and market district. Protector's enclave, as the city center was now called, bustled with citizens and adventurers alike as there was often work for both types of people available.

Lost in her own musings, Gwenn failed to notice that Father Wiltens had stopped. She walked squarely into his back, dropping him down to the cobblestone walkway. Suddenly finding himself on the ground, Father Wiltens sputtered some dirt from his mouth, before rolling onto his back and glaring threateningly at Gwenn. Gwenn knew the look to be little more than an idle threat, but bent and reached to help Father Wiltens to his feet. She stammered the expected apology as he brushed the road dust from his robes. Father Wiltens said nothing, and turned once again to face the other direction. Gwenn followed Father Wiltens turn, to find that he had stopped at a merchant's stall. However, this merchant seemed different from the rest. Where most of the merchants in the city put out brightly colored objects to try to attract attention, this merchant had very little actually on display. In fact, Gwenn could hardly tell this was a merchant's stall at all. The few items set out on display had heavy layers of dust and grime on them, and were certainly not meant to attract potential customers. Gwenn turned to Father Wiltens, with a confused look in her eye. " Father, what business have we here? Certainly there is nothing of value to us…" she began. Father Wiltens held up a hand to silence her, then looked to the merchant. " Have you the item, as was agreed?" he asked matter-of-factly. The merchant reached into a small crate that was behind the display counter, and produced a small package. The package was unremarkable, being only wrapped in brown paper and tied with some string. Gwenn studied the merchant carefully as he handed the package over, and Father Wiltens gave a sack of coins in return. Father Wiltens then turned and signaled to her that they were leaving the drab stall. As they left, the merchant called after them, " Wise is he that does not delve deeply, for he avoids the mistakes of his forebears!" Father Wiltens merely grunted at the man, and continued away. Gwenn was conflicted, she could feel that whatever lay within that package was indeed important and valuable, but also had a sense of overwhelming dread. Lost in her thoughts and inner conflicts, she struggled to keep pace with Father Wiltens. Soon, she had lost sight of him altogether. She paused in the street, and considered her next move. Father Wiltens was most assuredly going to the enclave, but she did not feel ready to return just yet. Instead, Gwenn made her way to the single large altar in Protector's Enclave. This was the one place she felt truly at peace and connected to her goddess. Not even the enclave grounds offered her that solace. The worship of the gods was different now, she had to remind herself, ever since the Wailing Death before her lifetime. That plague had been spread by false Helmites, and had caused a great distrust of priests and clerics in Neverwinter since. That distrust was evident, as religious orders were not afforded the same courtesies and respect as before that event. Despite that distrust Gwenn had chosen the life of a cleric, dedicating her life to the service of Selune. Now, as she had done countless times before, she reflected on that choice before the altar.

This time however, something was different. Gwenn could feel that the connection with her goddess was stronger this time, a sense that she didn't understand. As she tried to make sense of this feeling, she felt the pit of weightlessness in her stomach and her vision began to blur. Before she could react, her eyes told her she was in a small cottage. The air in the cottage hummed with power, and made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. As Gwenn took stock of her surroundings, a woman entered from a door at the back of the cottage. The woman, a petite half-elven figure, moved through the cottage, and sat in one chair of pair on either side of a small table. She looked at Gwenn, smiled and gestured for Gwenn to sit in the other chair. Gwenn could sense the power radiating from the woman, and hesitated for a moment before sitting. Gwenn was very confused, and her thoughts raced with possibilities as to where she was. Preoccupied as she was, they sat in silence for several moments. Finally, the woman spoke. "Gwenn Moonshadow, be at peace. No harm will you find here." The woman's voice was warm and comforting, and Gwenn found that her fears and anxieties soon melted away. Gwenn turned to the woman, and studied her features for a moment. There was nothing remarkable about this woman's appearance, and yet Gwenn knew there was something special about her. The sheer force of the power radiating off this woman was nearly overwhelming, Gwenn had never encountered anything like it. Gwenn then decided it was time to get some answers. "Where am I" she asked softly, the power of this woman stealing some of her nerve. "This is a place between places" the woman answered, "It is neither here nor there, and exists solely for my purpose. In this place, we can talk without fear of interruption or problematic notions. Here we can be truly at peace." Gwenn had no idea what the women meant by her answer. A place between places? What did that even mean? To Gwenn, this place was certainly serene, but in an otherworldly way, and it made Gwenn nervous. She had been taught how otherworldly beings would try to trick you, so she was on high alert. The woman spoke again,"You are wise to be cautious, Gwenn Moonshadow, many are the things I could do." Gwenn did not doubt the words in the least, but was more taken aback that the woman could read minds! Gwenn, realizing that she could hide nothing from this being, steeled her nerves and spoke again. "Who are you?" She asked, a bit more reverently than she had intended. "What am I doing here?" The woman smiled, and held her arms out wide. " You are here because it was deemed necessary to talk. As to who I am, you may call me Califra."

" Califra…" Gwenn muttered to herself, still not sure what to make of this whole thing. Nothing made sense to her, yet she knew it all was right. She still had no idea where she was, or how she got here. Looking up from her thoughts, Gwenn steeled her nerve once again. "Okay" she said, " If I am here because we needed to talk, what is it we need to talk about?" Califra smiled, and leaned forward in the chair she was sitting in. "An excellent question, Gwenn Moonshadow. You worship and follow the will of Selune correct?" Gwenn's eyes widened at the mention of her goddess. "Of course", she said cautiously " What does that have to do with now?" Califra sighed, a long drawn out affair that showed her growing impatience. "You are aware of the item recently given to your orders possession?" Gwenn thought back to the merchants stall and the small wrapped item that Father Wiltens had purchased. " I am aware that the Father purchased an item; What it is and for what purpose I do not know." She answered honestly. " Is that what this is about?" Califra began to nod her head, " Indeed, that item is very important to our conversation." Gwenn was taken aback. Never before had she dealt with otherworldly beings, and now here was one concerned with what Father Wiltens was buying. What was in that package that was so important, as to draw the attention of this being? Califra stood suddenly, sweeping her arms out wide. " The item in question is a holy relic of Selune. It has been lost for ages, and its discovery now is no coincidence. That item has been cursed, and will bring nothing but misfortune to your order and Neverwinter as a whole." She paused for a moment to allow the information to sink in. " Selune herself has seen fit to intervene, and has sent me to charge you with the task of retrieving and cleansing the relic. The desecration shall not stand!" The sudden fire in Califra's voice threw Gwenn off her guard, such passion was rare amongst the otherworldly beings she had been taught about. But more importantly in that moment was that if this being was truthful, Selune herself had charged Gwenn with this task! Gwenn looked at Califra, doubt filling her heart. " Why me?", she asked meekly. Califra smiled once more, here power feeling more motherly than threatening. " Selune has watched you since you were a young girl. Your compassion for others, even those most would see as below them, has earned you the favor of your goddess. Why you? Because there is no other in your order that Selune favors. No, this task is yours." Gwenn was shocked by the revelation! Since she as young, she had worshiped Selune, but never did she think that Selune would actually notice her! She always thought her devotion was as a drop in a bucket, one amongst millions. But to learn otherwise, was truly shocking. Califra sat back in her chair, looking at and reading the thoughts flying though Gwenn's head. "Our business here is done, you have your task. By your life or death, see it done Gwenn Moonshadow!"

Once again, Gwenn felt the weightlessness in her gut, and her vision blurred. When her vision returned, she found not the cottage about her, but the open streets of Neverwinter. She was lying on her back before the gods altar, a crowd of concerned citizens surrounding her. Without a word, she rose to her feet, and dashed in the direction of her order's enclave in the city. Many things swirled through her mind, but one thing stood out in the tumult: She had to find that relic. She had to find it and see the mission given to her from her goddess through. Soon, she found herself at the gates of the enclave, but she wasn't sure how to proceed. Would the others listen to her story? Would they believe her? Shaking her head to clear the troublesome thoughts from her mind, she pushed open the gate and strode into the enclave.


	2. Faith and Duty

**Chapter 2: Faith and Duty**

Gwenn walked through the gates of the enclave, hardly seeming to notice the courtyard around her. Her mind swirled with problems and potential solutions, all centered on the mysterious relic. She still had no idea what the relic actually was, nor how exactly it was cursed. _What would happen if I touch it directly?_ She wondered. Thinking back to Father Wilten's purchasing of the item dispelled that troublesome notion however. So long as it was wrapped in something, it seemed to have no ill effects on the carrier. What then was the nature of the curse? And how would the relic damage her order and Neverwinter? Gwenn once again shook her head to clear the tumult of thoughts. First, she had to somehow acquire the relic, then she could worry about dealing with the curse itself.

Gwenn's innermost musings were soon interrupted, as she barged into someone else. Realizing for the first time since the gate that she was in the interior building of the enclave, and that she had carelessly walked into someone else Gwenn quickly stammered out an apology. She looked down to the person she had knocked down, and let out a long sigh. Sitting on the ornate stone floor was a young boy, human and no more than 16 years old. His blonde hair was unkempt, and his robes showed much use from the various patches and worn spots scattered about their surface. Recognizing the youth, Gwenn offered a hand to help him to his feet. "Arlon! I am sorry to have walked into you, but why are you here? I mean why are you not in the chapel tending the altar?" The boy took the offered hand and was soon back on his feet. He patted the new dust from his worn robes, and glanced up and down the hall they were standing in. Seeing no one, the boy moved in close to Gwenn and spoke in a small whisper. "Gwenn, I was wondering when you would return. Father Wiltens returned some time ago, and went into the chapel directly, ordering us attendants out." Arlon's voice, though a whisper, held an urgency that Gwenn had not heard from the boy in all the years she had known him. " Arlon," she said, "Perhaps the Father simply needed time to pray for guidance? He does have much to worry about these days." Arlon simply shook his head. "No, that isn't it at all." he said hurriedly "Always we attendants stay, to see to the physical needs of prayer; candles, holy water and the like. The Father seemed in a rush, as though he had something important to do. I was on my way to find one of the Mothers when I ran into you."

Gwenn could tell that Arlon was worried, though she was sure even he did not know about what exactly. Even she had to admit to the feeling of unease growing in her gut, made worse by what she was hearing. She pushed those feelings of unease aside, and steeled her will for what may come. She had a task, given by her Goddess, and she meant to see it done. "Arlon," she said at length, " Go find a Mother, I will check with Father Wiltens; I have business with him anyway." Arlon nodded, and hurried down the corridor. Gwenn watched him go, waiting until he was out of site before heading to the chapel with all haste. All the while she walked, the feeling of unease grew and the very air seemed to darken as she approached the chapel doors. She paused just before the doors, and could make out the muffled sounds of conversation, though she could not understand what was being said. _Didn't Arlon say Father Wiltens had ordered everyone out? Shouldn't he be alone?_, She thought. Her mind raced with questions, but she placed her hand upon the door and pushed.

The chapel was darker than it should have been, and it took Gwenn's eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom. Once they had, Gwenn almost wished they hadn't. The chapel was almost completely black, with only a faint light to be seen around the altar itself. Father Wiltens knelt reverently at the altar, seeming lost in prayer. However, looming above Father Wiltens and the altar stood the largest, and the only, Fiend that Gwenn had ever seen. Its massive frame, with skin an unholy red sheen, hardly fit in the room. The Fiend reached its wicked clawed hands toward the altar, an evil grin forming on its face. The Fiend spoke in a voice held to a much lower volume than it was used to, and Father Wiltens seemed to be listening intently to it. While the conversation being had was still not clear to her, Gwenn was sure of one thing: the item she was after lay on the altar, within the grasp of the Fiend. Gwenn had a flash of memory just then, recalling the words Califra spoke to her in the vision. Cursed or not, Gwenn decided at that moment that the relic would not fall into the hands of a Fiend! She withdrew her holy symbol from its place within her armor. She would reclaim the relic from the Fiend, and even Father Wiltens should he try to intervene. The movement caught the Fiend's attention however, and its large head swung upward to gaze at Gwenn. The moment its eyes fell upon her, Its terrifying aura washed over her and she had to fight with all her will to resist the urge to flee. Shakily, She raised her holy symbol and took one unsteady step forward. " F-f-foul creature, Y-y-you shall not cause me to flee! My will is stronger than your spell!" she said loudly, each word seeming to give her more courage in the face of this deadly foe. Her speech caused Father Wiltens to jump up from his position and look back at her. His mouth fell agape, as though he could not believe that Gwenn was there. The fiend merely laughed, an impossibly loud sound that reverberated through Gwenns entire being. It then gestured widely to the room, and looked at Gwenn once again. "Insignificant creature!", it boomed, "That you resisted my spell is of no consequence! Should you choose to challenge me, you will die a inglourious death." Gwenn clutched tighter to her holy symbol, silently sending a prayer to her Goddess. Taking a single step forward, she paused at the sound of Father Wiltens voice. "Gwenn! Flee! I do not know what you are doing, but this is beyond you! Flee and live!" he shouted, with more concern than Gwenn had ever heard from him. She could only look at him and smile weakly; backing down was not an option for her now. She looked back to the mighty fiend before her, trying to come up with some plan to combat this evil and recover the relic. Maybe she could cover the distance and grab the relic and be away before the fiend could strike her? No, though she understood little of fiends, she was sure that it could easily attack her long before she reached the relic. Finding little recourse, she chose instead to trust fully in her Goddess, only the divine could see her safely through this trial.

" What then, little one?" the fiend asked, " What will you do now?" Gwenn set her determination to what she must do, and sprang into action. Her muscles tensed, and she burst into motion, running as fast as she could toward the fiend, her holy symbol leading the way. The fiend, anticipating such an action swung one of its arms, and wicked claws toward her, meaning to eviscerate her and end her life then and there. Father Wiltens cried out then, a scream of fear and dread, for how could young Gwenn possibly survive? The fiend was large, and unused to moving through the air of the Prime Material plane. Thus its movements were slightly slower than Gwenn expected, and flaw she thought she could exploit. She waited till the last moment, till the great clawed limb was nearly upon her, then fell into a slide. She passed inches below the attack, sliding through and away from the fiends weaponized limb. As she passed, on a whim, she struck out at the great creature with her symbol. She connected squarely on its palm and there was a great flash of silver light. The fiend recoiled, clutching at its hand and bellowing in pain. Gwenn rose to her feet in a smooth motion, and continued to put distance between her and the dangerous limbs. She called out to the fiend, her courage growing ever stronger, " I may be small, and insignificant," she yelled out, "But my Goddess is Ancient and powerful! Fear her scorn foul creature!" Angry, and injured, the fiend swung its arms at Gwenn again. This time the limb was too low to the ground for Gwenn to duck, so she chose to try to jump instead. A small smile and a flash of pride found its way to her face and into her heart, as she hurdled the massive limb with ease. Landing again on the chapel floor, she broke into a full sprint toward the relic. The fiend however, seeing her attempt to claim the relic, continued its mighty swing through and into the wall of the chapel. The wall, being made of ordinary stone, crumbled to dust under the mighty blow and the chapel began to collapse. Large chunks of the remaining walls and ceiling began to rain down into the room. Father Wiltens, his moment of concern for Gwenn past him, fled the collapsing room as fast as he could. He chanced a quick glance back at Gwenn as he passed the threshold of the door, and saw that rubble seemed poised to crush her. Turning back to the door, he decided that he would not share her fate, and ran.

Gwenn soon realized her folly in thinking she had won. The massive arm crushed the chapel wall behind her and soon it seemed the entire enclave was falling in on her. The floor shook from the many impacts of stone, making it very difficult for her to stand or move at all. She struggled to maintain forward momentum, and soon found herself spending more time dodging falling stone than anything else. Her eyes never left the altar and she watched the relic shake across the surface as the room fell on top of her. The fiend, its massive frame no longer able to fit in the rapidly shrinking room, laughed loudly. It started to retreat back through the portal to its realm, but spoke loudly to Gwenn as it left. "Foolish fleshling! Too late you learn not to interfere with your betters! Now this room shall be your tomb!" Finishing the sentence, the fiend simply laughed again, and retreated back through the portal. Gwenn started to panic then, for the way out of the chapel had been blocked and it looked to her that she would indeed be crushed. Just then, a familiar voice cut through her thoughts and left a single phrase in her head. _The Relic! Get the relic!_ Recognizing the voice as belonging to Califra, Gwenn did not question the instruction and began moving as best she could toward the relic. The room shook violently from the many crashes of stone as the room fell apart. Gwenn slowly made her way toward the altar, hoping to get to the relic before she was crushed. She didn't understand why claiming the relic was so important right now, even if she reached it all the exits were blocked. But Califra had tasked her with retrieving it, she would worry about getting out once she had it. A large piece of stone fell then, landing with a thunderous crash on the altar. The stone altar shook from the impact and then buckled, throwing the relic into the air. Gwenn watched as the relic flew through the air, twisting as it went. Fortunately, the relic would pass near to her. She reached out, knowing she had one chance to grab it before it was lost in the rubble. She stretched her arm as far as it would go, and felt the relic brush against the tips of her fingers, but roll over the top of her outstretched hand. But her reflexes saved her just then, as her other hand shot out and seized the relic from midair. Almost immediately, her body began to tingle from the potent magic within the relic. Looking up, Gwenn saw a large piece of the ceiling fall toward her, a piece she could not hope to avoid. Gwenn searched around her for some escape, as the tingling continued to grow within her. Finding nothing, Gwenn said a silent prayer to her Goddess, thinking she had failed in her mission. She had claimed the relic, but she was sure she would die here and therefore not be able to cleanse it. The stone was close now, she realized, and she was struck by her level of calm. There was no panic now, in the moments before her death. All there was was the growing tingling in her body. She closed her eyes to await the impact of the stone, and then the tingling disappeared. It took a moment for Gwenn to realize the noise of the collapsing room was gone, and the air smelled fresher than it should have. Gwenn opened her eyes, and could not believe what she saw. No longer was she in the collapsing chapel, but instead she was in a pristine forest meadow. Gwenn was puzzled, and looked down to the relic she still held in her hand. How had she come to be here, safe from harm for the moment? A million questions swirled through her mind then, all without answers. With the threat to her life no longer present, her adrenaline rush soon ended, and she fell to her knees on the grass. She didn't understand much of what just happened, but she was alive and had not failed her holy mission. She tucked the relic away in a belt pouch, and prayed long and hard to her goddess.


	3. The Way of the Wood

A rythmic thumping filled the air of the forest, seeming to the unobservant to be the audible heartbeat of the woods. To those that could tell such things, the sound was nothing more than an axe striking into a tree. The thumping continued for sometime, with occasional pauses, until a shout, cut through the still air. " Ah, thar she goes! Watch yo arse's!" The affected tree groaned, leaning over until its trunk bent too far and broke with a loud crack. The tree fell hard to the earth, settling quickly and the air returned to its previous quiet state. The tree feller, looking rather pleased with himself, moved to the downed tree, placing his axe upon the trunk. He lifted a stubby, yet muscular, arm to his brow and wiped the sweat away from his eyes.

Grinning once again, he set about the work of preparing the tree for hauling. He worked hard, well into the twilight hours, trimming branches and cutting the trunk into smaller pieces. Donning a special harness, one he had made for this purpose, he hooked himself to a log section. The dwarf, for he was very obviously of the stout, industrious folk, stretched out his back in preparation for the work to come. He leaned forward, putting tension on the lines connecting him to the log. Then, with a few quick pumps of his powerful legs, he was pulling the log behind him through the forest.

The gloom of the approaching night hung heavy in the boughs of the trees, signaling the dwarf that he should hurry home. The wood was often unfriendly, if not outright dangerous after dark, and he did not desire to be caught tethered to a log should danger arise. He traveled for a short while, pausing every so often to ensure he remained on the correct path. After about fifteen minutes of hauling the log the dwarf approached a clearing he knew well, but there was something different. Quickly unhooking himself from the harness, he grabbed his axe and quietly; well...as quietly as any dwarf could, moved toward the clearing.

He expected to find some manner of beast prowling the clearing, searching for its next meal. Instead, his eyes fell on a scene that, for some reason, brought him great peace. In the middle of the clearing knelt a thin figure, sporting fine armor and seemingly lost in some ritual or another. The dwarf took a step forward, snapping a twig underfoot. The sound filled the clearing in a most unnatural way, and the figure seemed pulled from whatever contemplation it was lost in. Slowly, the thin figure in the center of the clearing stood, and the dwarf wrung his hands around the haft of his axe. The next few moments passed slowly, as each sized up the other.

Gwenn was conflicted. Her instincts told her this newcomer was not a threat, yet the dwarf brandished an axe. She reached for her holy symbol, preparing for the worst while hoping for the best. As soon as the symbol cleared her armor, the dwarf exploded into motion. Leading with his axe, he covered the distance between them in an instant and chopped across her torso in a vicious swing. Gwenn narrowly avoided the attack, jumping back from the swing at the last second. She quickly set her feet under her, and began to mouth the words of a dwarf would not give her time to cast, however, and he quickly pressed in on her again. Narrowly dodging another strike, She began to think how to defeat this powerful fighter.

Dodging this way and that, always a millisecond ahead if that wicked axe, Gwenn began to formulate a plan. She backed away from the dwarf, seemingly in full retreat, but secretly leading the dwarf to the edge of the clearing. Once there, it was only a couple deft dodges that led her to have her back against a tree. The dwarf stuck again, thinking his opponent cornered, and found his axe meet naught but tree trunk. Pulling on his axe once, the dwarf released the handle, knowing it was stuck fast. The darkness grew deeper around the combatants, as they once again sized each other up.

The dwarf was at a great disadvantage now, being deprived of his weapon, but Gwenn was not foolish enough to think him neutralized. From her crouched position off to the side, she contemplated her options. While disarmed, the dwarf would still present a formidable challenge. His people were famed for their battle prowess, and she truly wanted no more battle this day. On a whim, she slowly stood and tossed her symbol on the ground before her. She raised her hands slowly, and spoke in the common tongue. " I'll not fight you, friend dwarf."

Completely taken by surprise, the dwarf warily watched this new development in the fight. His foe, if she could be considered that, had relinquished her advantage willingly. Taking a step backward, he slowly raised his own hands. " Right, Who be ya? And Wha' ya be doing 'round here?" he asked, also in the common tongue. Feeling that this fight was over, he moved back to his axe, and began trying to free it from the tree it was stuck in.

Gwenn breathed a sigh of relief, and stooped to retrieve her symbol. Rising to her feet, she began to answer the dwarf. " My name is Gwenn Moonshadow, cleric in service to Selune. As to what brought me to this place, I cannot say for sure. Perhaps some form of magic?" She sighed heavily, the events of the day swirling through her thoughts. How had she come to this place? And where was this place?

The dwarf finished retrieving his axe, and looked back to Gwenn. He could see plainly that she was conflicted and confused, not a state of being he often associated with clerics. He dropped into a low bow, in which his bright red beard touched the forest floor. Straightening up, he glanced around the clearing, noting the fast approaching night. "Well met, Gwenn Moonshadow! I am known as Rangrim Gemviper. I am sorry for mah hasty reaction. Uninvited guests are rarely friendly here abouts." He let out a long sigh, and turned back toward the log section he had left near the edge of the clearing.

Gwenn watched as Rangrim turned, seemingly preparing to go on his way. She glanced around, noting the encroaching darkness for the first time. "Wait!" She practically screamed, "I have no right to ask this of you, but would you have a safe place nearby I might spend the night? I know not where I am, nor how to get back to where I was." She looked at the ground, unsure of how the dwarf would react to her request. " And by your own words, there could be much danger if I remain here."

Rangrim paused, considering the request. He was not keen on inviting this stranger back to his home, but he couldn't deny the allure of company. It had been quite some time since he had another person to talk to, and besides, he thought to himself, she had stopped the fight. If she meant to harm him, she would have done so then. Turning back to face her, he smiled and spread his hands wide. " O' course, Mistress Cleric! I live not far from here. Come let us go, before the beasties come in force."

Gwenn smiled, and followed Rangrim back to the log section. A few moments later, they were off, Rangrim weaving this way and that, following a path she could not see. Some time later, just as the last rays of daylight were leaving the sky, they arrived at a small cabin nestled in another clearing. Rangrim deftly unhooked himself from the log, and strode to the door. With a simple push, the door swung wide, and Rangrim gestured inside. " Welcome to me' home. Best be in before we have more guests."

Stepping through the low door, Gwenn surveyed the dwelling. It was a simple home, built of the timber it was surrounded by. She walked into a small common room, containing a small table and chair, as well as a corner cooking area. Rangrim followed her in, closing the door behind himself and placing a heavy bar across it. He glanced back to see Gwenn's slightly concerned look, and smiled widely. " Best to keep the wee beasties on the otha side."

He then gestured to the sole chair in the room, indicating she should sit. " Now, Mistress Cleric, how did ye come to be in the wood?" Gwenn sat in the small chair, and began to gather her thoughts. Where to begin in this tale? And how much to share? Letting a long sigh pass her lips, she began to recount her recent adventure. She chose to hold nothing back, and as soon as she started, she found she could not stop. Rangrim stood, leaning heavily on the wall, and listened intently.

When she had finished, he remained silent for a time. He stood, stroking his bearded chin, processing the tale he had just heard. After a few moments, he dropped his hands and looked at Gwenn. " A fine tale, worthy of any bard." He then grabbed a large jug from a shelf, and took a large swig from it. " Ale?" he said, offering the jug to Gwenn. She merely shook her head.

She was still conflicted, and unsure of what to do. She felt the relic in her belt pouch, glad to have obtained it but unsure of how to complete her mission. Glancing around the small room, she decided that it was pointless to worry over that right now. Surely she could do nothing until at least the morning, and so should put it out of her mind until then. Her gaze soon fell back to Rangrim, this strange dwarf. How odd it seemed that he lived alone, in a wood. " Tell me, Master Dwarf," She began, " How did you come to be here? Why do you have no kin, or a mountain home?" Her voice spoke out of curiosity, but her words struck far deeper than she could imagine.

Rangrim grew very silent, and a darkness passed over his face. He remained silent for some time, then merely shrugged. " It be not important." he finally said at length. Gwenn wanted to press him, but she could see that her question had wounded the dwarf deeply, and let it go at that. They sat in silence for a time, neither one willing to break the silence between them. Finally, Rangrim shook his head and the darkness passed from his face. His smile returned, and he spoke as though nothing had occurred at all.

The two spoke well into the night, Rangrim asking much about Neverwinter and life there. Gwenn tried her best to answer his questions, but life in the enclave left many holes in her answers. She simply lacked the experience with the everyday life of Neverwinter citizens. That aside, Rangrim seemed more than happy with the answers he got, often asking many follow up questions. By the time they retired that night, Rangrim to his bed and Gwenn with a blanket on the floor of the common room, Rangrim had heard all that Gwenn could recall of Neverwinter.


	4. To the City of Fire

Morning dawned with no further incident, and Gwenn woke feeling hopeful. Rising from the cot that was made for her the previous night, She listened to the sounds of life stirring in the wood outside the cabin. Bird song rang through the air, occasionally cut with the chattering of a passing squirrel. Oddly, she heard nothing but the sounds of Mielikki's children on the air. Rangrim's loud snoring was absent, and looking to the door to his chamber, she found it was slightly ajar.

She slowly stood, a sense of worry building in her. She had known the dwarf only a short time, but already found she greatly enjoyed his company. She moved slowly, though she knew not why, to the door and gently pushed it open. She sighed audibly though, when she found nothing but an empty bed chamber.

Turning back to the main chamber of the cabin, She took a few quick breaths to settle her nerves. She didn't understand why she felt such kinship with the strange dwarf, yet there remained the fact that she did. Walking back to her cot, she began the process of collecting her things. Piece by piece, she donned her armor, lost in thought all the while.

A sudden loud bang brought her back to the reality of the cabin. Spinning quickly to face the noise, she found that the front door had been thrown open. She grabbed for her symbol, thinking to defend herself if needed. Glancing at the door though, she realized she need not have bothered.

Rangrim stood there, holding the carcass of a forest creature. On his face, he wore a wide smile. "Ai, hope yer ready fer some breakfast!" Rangrim paused then, noticing that Gwenn was on alert and seemed ready for a fight. A hearty laugh escaped him then, and he walked to the cookpot. "Sorry if'n I startled ye, was not me intention." he said with his usual mirth and charm.

Gwenn could merely watch him work in bewilderment. How happy he seemed just now, though she knew there were deep scars hidden beneath that exterior. She had to wonder how hard he worked to seem so carefree. Putting on an air of severity, she began to playfully scold him. "And just what was your intention then, Master Dwarf? Any sensible creature would have been ready for a fight with that racket!"

Rangrim paused in his preparations of their breakfast. He was fairly certain she was joking, but was not fully certain. "First," he began, " As I tol' ye last night, call me Rangrim. Anythin' else seems too stuffy." He turned to face Gwenn, "Secondly, me intention was only to announce me return. Nothin' more, nothin' less." He studied the young cleric's face for clues about how serious she was, and soon was relieved when her face cracked into a large smile.

The two of them shared several moments of boisterous laughter, then Rangrim returned to the cookpot. Before long, he had transformed the carcass into a wonderful stew. As they sat at the table to eat, Gwenn couldn't help a small jab at her host's expense. " Stew?! Not exactly ideal for breakfast is it?" Rangrim merely shrugged, and reached toward Gwenns bowl. " Well, if'n ye be not wanting it…"

Gwenn was quick to guard her bowl from his outstretched arm. " I never said I did not want it. I was merely commenting on the choice." Again she couldn't hold her smile, and both she and Rangrim laughed again. Once the laughter had died down, both were quick to dive into their breakfast.

Some time later, Gwenn stood in the clearing outside the cabin. She did not know where she should go next, but she knew she could not tarry here any longer. She still had her divine mission to complete, after all. Having lived her life in the confines of the enclave, she possessed very little actual knowledge of the world outside of Neverwinter. Where should she take the relic, or to whom?

She was brought once again to the clearing with the loud banging of the cabin's heavy door. Turning around, She was faced with Rangrim's smiling face. He was dressed in worn travel clothes, but something about the way they fell told her there was more than simple clothes being worn by the dwarf. Resting easily on his shoulder was his axe, and he wore a pack on his back as well.

Gwenn started to speak, but he cut her off. " It's no use tryin' to talk me out of going. I've already decided. Beside's, do ye be knowing where to be going? Or even how to find the road?" She started to protest, not wanting to draw the dwarf further into her troubles, but realized he was right.

When Gwenn didn't answer, He spoke again. " Now, I have a small bit o' travel things, but we will need more. Closest place be Sundabar, we should be heading that way." At the mention of Sundabar, the cloud again crossed his face, but passed just as quickly. " O' course, Sundabar be only a stop, as we be heading to Silverymoon. The folks there should have a thing or two to say 'bout yer relic lass.

With a bit more conversation, and a long look about the place from Rangrim, the pair set off. Rangrim kept them moving generally north, with occasional detours to avoid creatures or obstacles. His familiarity with these woods was obvious, and he moved as though he had placed everything in it. They made excellent progress, and by the time darkness fell the road was in sight. As the gloom of twilight took the sky, Rangrim busied himself making a fire. Every so often he would look up and smile, and mutter something about how what he was doing was for safety.

Sitting beside a roaring fire, Gwenn was uneasy. She had never spent a night in the wilds, and had heard of how dangerous such a night could be. Rangrim sat easily next to the fire, his outward calm hiding the level of alert he held. He had guessed that the young cleric had not been in the wilds, and was trying very hard to not scare her. But he knew what dangers wait in the dark. This close to the road, beasts were a small concern, but a larger danger was the possibility of orcs. Merchants often traveled the road, fine targets for Orc raiders.

The fire burned low in the early morning hours, long before the break of dawn. Gwenn slept fitfully, her dreams filled with the manifest uncertainty she felt. She was as unsure of herself as ever, perhaps more so now that she had a moment to reflect. Initially, she had not questioned the will of her Goddess. But now, she was sure the Goddess had picked wrong. She was but a low level cleric in her order after all, with limited experience in most matters, how much could she conceivably do?

Lost in doubting dreams, it took her several moments to awaken. Rangrim stood over her as she opened her eyes, and confusion filled her mind. "Wha..?" She started to say. He was quick to cover her mouth, and only held a finger to his mouth, to signal silence. She then noticed his eyes, void of the normal light and mirth, staring into the darkness outside the camp. Gwenn was struck by the cold, almost callous, look on his face. Something had obviously raised his guard.

Rangrim slowly removed his hand from her mouth, and readied his axe. Taking cue from his actions, she removed her symbol from its place on her armor, and slowly sat up. The next few moments passed slowly, almost agonizingly so, while the pair waited. Soon enough, a quartet of orcs, a race not known for its stealth or subtlety, came charging into the camp. Rangrim was up in an instant, bellowing a war cry and charging three of the creatures.

The one orc not in Rangrims path, turned its attention to the half prone cleric. Quickly closing the small distance to its target, it swung its battleaxe overhand, thinking to cleave the small cleric in two. Gwenn hastily rolled away, missing the strike by mere hair's breadth. She jumped to her feet following the roll, and squared off against the orc. The orc, genuinely surprised to find its strike had found only earth, lifted the large weapon easily and charged the young cleric once again.

Rangrim, as skilled in battle as he was, was hard pressed. It had been some time since he had faced orcs, and he found himself squarely on the defensive. He had charged these three willingly however, for even with her recent experience, Gwenn was no warrior. He hoped she could handle the one remaining creature, but could not spare the attention to check. The four combatants worked furiously, each seeking advantage but finding none.

Gwenn had not faced such a ferocious enemy before. Ducking a wide swing, she backpedaled a few steps. Always the orcs' weapon was mere moments behind her, shadowing her every move. Quickly realizing she could not out maneuver this opponent, she racked her mind for some strategy. Remembering the little she was taught of orcs in the enclave, she began to develop a plan.

Parrying another series of blows, Rangrim dug his back foot into the dirt, and launched himself forward. He had to even the odds in his favor, for he knew he couldn't hold forever against these three. The creatures were skilled, for orcs, and had slowly begun to work together. Using the momentum from his spring forward, and the surprise he had gained, he struck. Jabbing out with the top of the pole on his axe, he stole the breath from one of his attackers. The injured creature fell to the ground, disabled for a precious few moments.

Gwenn knew, at least as far as she was taught, that orcs were not overly intelligent as a rule. She thought to use this to her advantage, and waited for the orc to swing its heavy weapon again. When the small half-elf had paused for a brief second, the orc thought its moment had come. It brought its weapon across in a vicious swing, meaning to end her life then and there.

Seeing their companion brought low in such a short time, the two remaining orcs against Rangrim hesitated. That hesitation was all the surly dwarf needed. Bringing his axe across with practiced ease, he gutted one orc. The wounded creature fell back, not even knowing it was already dead. The remaining orc stood, jaw agape, as the battle turned in the dwarfs favor. The two circled each other for a moment, before beginning to exchange a flurry of blows.

The orcs' axe cut across, and Gwenn tucked into roll to get inside the swing. Coming out of the roll, She stood quickly leading with her holy symbol. The move, one which the stupid creature never saw coming, resulted in her symbol bashing into the chin of the orc. The blow, while not powerful enough to end the fight, would certainly leave its mark. The axe fell from its grasp, and Gwenn thought she now had an advantage. She was that much more surprised then, when the orc wrapped its powerful arms around her small frame, and began to squeeze.

Amidst the clang of steel on steel in his own battle, Rangrim caught the faint sounds of distress nearby. Chancing a glance, his eyes found Gwenn being slowly crushed by the powerful embrace of the orc that held her. He turned his attention back to his opponent, just in time to deflect another blow. But the dwarf felt something, a feeling he had not had for ages; Unbridled fury. His rage grew, and finally exploded on the unfortunate orc before him. Powered by rage, his strikes came faster, and hit harder. Soon, Rangrim had the orc squarely on the defensive, the poor creature hardly able to keep up and certainly not understanding its impending doom.

Gwenn struggled valiantly against the impossibly strong grip of the orc. She kicked, bit, and clawed, all in a futile attempt to break the death grip. She thought to utter a prayer, but found she had not the air to say the words. Her world started fading, first color went, then toward black. Just as she was about to lose consciousness, and her life as far as she saw it, she heard a meaty thud. The monster's vice grip loosened, then let go all together. Falling to the ground, the injured cleric gasped for breath, and color and sounds returned to her world. Turning to her adversary, she found the orc blinking, unable to comprehend the axe that had come to rest in its skull. It wobbled, and finally fell, dead long before it hit the ground.

As the orc fell, the axe came loose, as it was held in the sturdy hands of her dwarf companion. The bloody weapon seemed to hover for a moment, before falling to the earth. Rangrim rushed to her side, all thought focused on the well being of his friend. " Lass! Yer alright?" He asked, the rage inside dying down as he spoke. Gwenn nodded, before setting about examining herself and Rangrim for wounds.

Rangrim rose then, retrieved his axe, and strode to the downed orc he had left. The creature was stirring, finally having found its wind again. Before it could come fully to its senses, the dwarf finished the battle with a quick chop of his brutal axe. Walking back to Gwenn, he finally noticed the slew of minor wounds he had sustained. Adrenaline had prevented him noticing when he was struck, but now the first hints of pain began creeping into his body.

Finishing her examination of herself, Gwenn happily noted she had sustained no significant injury. Rangrim stumbled then, drawing her eye to him. Seeing her companion bleeding from several wounds, she jumped to her feet and approached him. " You're wounded, Rangrim!" she said, more concern in her voice than she had intended. Rangrim merely shrugged, and offered a sheepish smile. "Aye, those orcs got a hit or two on me." he said.

Rangrim stood quietly as Gwenn set about healing his wounds. A quick prayer saw his wounds close, and the pain began to lessen. Rangrim found his mind was quite busy as Gwenn tended his wounds. He studied the battle over and over in his thoughts, wondering how he had let it happen again. The rage had not taken him for years, so long that he might have escaped it. But again, the rage had come and he had been powerless before it.

Gwenn looked up from her healing prayer, and saw in her friends eyes that he was far away in his thoughts. She glanced about the barely lit camp, now with the corpses of the four orcs strewn about. Orcs traveled in numbers, she knew, and so she thought it wise to move on. She reached out and gingerly placed her hand on Rangrims shoulder. "Rangrim," she began, "We should not linger. There may be more nearby."

The dwarf heard Gwenn's words, but only barely. He shook himself from his thoughts, before glancing around the camp himself. "Aye, lass. That there may be. Best we be moving on." he agreed. Moving swiftly, the industrious dwarf doused what remained of the fire. Grabbing Gwenn by the arm, he pulled her along toward the road in the predawn light. "Sundabar be not far, maybe a day or two further along the road," he said as they approached the merchant road. "Best we keep moving, try to avoid further battle."

Rangrim meant his words in the best way, but they had a different effect on Gwenn. She knew she had been almost useless in that fight. In fact, had nearly been killed! She was sure Rangrim meant that she could not defend herself. While there was truth in the idea, as combat training had been slated to begin in earnest the following year, she had thought to be more capable than she was. She decided then that she would seek some training once they reached Sundabar.

The following day and a half passed quickly, with the pair meeting neither friend nor foe on the road. It was nearly midday as they approached the winding road to the gate of Sundabar. Gwenn had never seen such a construction, one built almost purely for defense. The entire city sat atop a hill, surrounded by thick sturdy walls. Though they approached from the south, she could just make out other roads winding away from the fortress in the distance.

Approaching the gate, the pair stopped short at call from above. "Halt and identify!" shouted a guard from atop the wall. Gwenn glanced to Rangrim, thinking he would answer for them, but instead found him squirming uncomfortably at her side. She looked back up toward the guard and shouted back. "Good day and well met sir! I am Gwenn Moonshadow, cleric in service to Selune, and this is my companion Ran-" The guard cut her off. " Rangrim! You have some nerve showing your face here again." He turned as though talking to someone else atop the wall. After a moment, he looked back down toward the pair, " That unwelcome slug beside you aside, what business brings you to Sundabar Cleric?"

Gwenn was unsure how to proceed. Clearly, Rangrim had some history here he had not divulged. But they needed supplies, so she could only hope to talk their way in. " We make for Silverymoon!" She shouted, "But we need provisions and supplies. We would like to enter to rest and restock." The guard once again conferred with his unseen companion. "Silverymoon lies the other way, cleric!" He shouted down at length, "And we shall not allow him entrance...not again. You may enter if you wish, but he stays here."

She wasn't sure how to feel. On the one hand, they desperately needed the supplies, but she did not wish to abandon her friend. A slight nudge to her back brought her out of her thoughts, and she turned to see Rangrim, looking rather deflated. He raised his hand, and spoke softly, "It be alright lass. I earned their scorn." He shrugged his pack off, dug around in it for a moment, and produced a piece of parchment. "This be a list of what we be needing, please go."

Gwenn took the parchment, her heart aching at the distress on the dwarfs face. "Very well," she said sadly, "I'll return with haste." Turning back to the gate she shouted up once more. "Alright, I am ready to enter!" The guard disappeared over the battlements, and soon the gate groaned open. Gwenn took a step forward, and was surprised when several armed guards walked out. The guard from above poked his head out of the gate, and motioned for her to enter. "Welcome to Sundabar, Mistress Cleric." And with those words, she strode into the city.


	5. The Regret of Rage

A short distance from the gate to Sundabar, Rangrim made his camp. He had chosen a shaded spot, just off the road, but still within sight and earshot of the gate. His thoughts wandered as he made camp, the motions being so automatic that he no longer needed conscious thought to complete the task. How long ago, he wondered, had been his life previous, that which he lived with his brothers within the walls? How long since that dread day?

Sparking a small fire, for he was outside the walls after all and held no certainty the guards of the city would come to his aid if attacked, he set about preparing his dinner. The meal was meager, consisting of a few items remaining in his pack, and he ate slowly. His thoughts swirled through his mind as he thought back to that day, twenty years ago. Memories flooded back to him, the battle and his foe charging becoming nearly as real as the meal he ate.

The dust had hardly settled from the last skirmish as the orc hordes charged the line of dwarves again. They had held off many such charges that day, but the orcs seemed smarter than usual. The hordes of orcs were not giving the dwarves time to rest, or to fortify. They charged with no regard to their losses, seemingly lost in the desire to kill the dwarves.

Rangrim wrung the handle of his axe, and chanced a glance behind him. The walls of Sundabar stood there, strong and unyielding. For two days now, the dwarves had held the line against the marauding orcs. For two days, they had waited for the Shieldsar, Sundabars main military force, to amass from the vale and join the battle. In their absence the Vigilant's, the elite dwarven sentries of the Everfire, had left their posts underground to defend the city.

Turning his attention back to the battle, he prepared to meet the oncoming charge. Orcs streamed toward him, in numbers defying counting. As the first orc reached the dwarven line, the sounds of battle began to echo all around him. The disciplined dwarves waited until the last moment, maintaining the formation perfectly, before charging to meet the foe yet again. As one, the dwarven line sprang forward, cutting down the first lines of orcs before they knew what had hit them.

Rangrim found himself thrust quickly into chaos. An orc charged forward, and he swatted it aside with a quick turn of his axe. Setting his feet against the charge of another orc, the sturdy dwarf shouldered his way through the charge and quickly dispatched the foe. All around him, dwarves fought hard, and orcs fell in droves.

The losses still did nothing to deter the orcs, and they pressed forward. Rangrim's axe swung this way and that, his practiced movements seeming almost graceful. Orc corpses began to pile around the dwarf, yet still they came. Far from tiring, the surly dwarf merely increased the speed of his movement and therefore the speed at which orcs died around him.

Always before, the orcs had charged in numbers and been repelled. This time was different. The orcs kept coming, and the solid formations of dwarves began to fall apart. The hordes pressed forward, forcing pockets of dwarves away from their allies. Those pockets formed smaller defensive formations, and dug in for the fight of their lives.

While most of the dwarves now stood in several groups, Rangrim found himself in the dangerous position of being alone. Orcs surrounded him, and warily began tightening the circle. Rangrim brandished his axe fiercely, and no orc dared stray too close. Finally, after several excruciating moments, the orcs charged forward.

Swinging his axe full circle above him, Rangrim slew several orcs in the first few seconds. Orcs pressed him from all sides, and it took all of his training and expertise to fend off the attacks. The sound of steel on steel rang all about him, as he parried and blocked for his life. Despite being pressed so severely, the skilled dwarf found time to riposte and slay many a foe amidst the storm of blades.

A warhorn blasted across the field of battle, reverberating off the walls of the city. Many of the orcs paused at the sound, while dwarves cheered. The Shieldsar had come at last. Charging out of the south, the mounted army closed to the orc hordes with speed, and the dwarves fought with renewed strength. Outflanked, much of the orc horde panicked and turned to flee but found themselves cut off from escape.

Rangrim still fought on valiantly, the orcs surrounding him caring little for the new arrivals to the battle. Though skilled and trained well, the dwarf could only hold the needed level of speed for so long, and blades began to slip through his guard. One orc scored a glancing blow, leaving behind a thin scar of blood on his arm. Another struck out at his torso, only to have its weapon turned by the dwarfs gleaming mail.

The sight of blood drove the orcs into a frenzy, and they attacked thinking to slay the dwarf and move on to other prey. Parrying another blow, Rangrim knew he would not survive without aid. His eyes searched for some advantage, even as he continued to block and parry strikes. He knew that the Shieldsar would likely move to assist the larger groups of embattled dwarves, and would be no help to him. Seeing no other choice, he set his determination and fought on.

The Shieldsar crashed into the flank of the orc forces, driving all before them. They had cut a swath through the horde, nearly to the trapped dwarven pockets. Their advance slowed, and finally stopped, and the battle began again in earnest. The humans of the Shieldsar, while certainly not Vigilants, were skilled, and orcs fell in large numbers. Soon, the humans had fought to the groups of dwarves and joined them. The lines were repaired and strengthened, and the forces of Sundabar threw themselves into the counterattack.

Even as salvation came for his friends and battle brothers, doom seemed to come for Rangrim. Far away from the newly reformed lines, he would soon be overwhelmed and slain. Even knowing this, he refused to surrender, and continued to fight viciously. Vowing to take as many orcs with him as possible, he once again brought the full force of his focus to the fight. Swinging his axe high, he lopped the heads off several orcs and caused the companions to the fallen creatures to pause.

Making sure not to waste the opportunity, the dwarf pumped his powerful legs under him and charged. The orcs in front of him, not expecting such an aggressive action, were completely caught off guard and fell easily. Those he had left behind stared stupidly for a moment where he had been, wondering where their prey had gone. Rangrim shouldered through several orcs, before the bulk of the creatures stole his momentum.

The battle had turned squarely against the orcs, with most of the horde already in full retreat. Only small pockets of orcs remained, where the prospect of an easy kill overruled their limited survival instincts. With most of the horde in full flight, the combined forces of Sundabar set about the easy task of clearing the last pockets of resistance.

Rangrim, now free of his foes, thought to rejoin the friends he had been separated from. Searching for the best route back, his eyes fell on a scene not far to his right. A pocket of orcs stood, the leading orc holding a young dwarf aloft by his throat. The dwarf clawed at the hand that held him, desperately trying to restore his ability to breathe. His short legs kicked and twisted, trying to gain some purchase to loosen the death grip. Rangrim's eyes met the poor dwarf's, and all he saw was fear.

Rangrim knew the dwarf he saw, a new member of the Vigilant that had not yet seen his first battle. He struggled to recall his name, having met the lad only a time or two, and only in passing. But those thoughts passed quickly, as the reality of the situation set in. Looking back to the lad, Rangrim set his jaw and charged into the orcs' midst. The nearest orcs, fully engrossed in the spectacle before then, never saw him coming. Rangrim flew by them, his powerful arms swinging his axe as he went and an orc fell cleaved in two. Reversing the weapon, another orc fell to the ground. By now, with two of their number fallen, the remaining orcs realized their peril and moved to intercept the invading dwarf.

The orc leading this group saw at once that Rangrim meant to save the young dwarf he held. Being smarter, and more sadistic than the average orc, the orc hatched a plan to crush the attacking dwarfs spirit. The sadistic creature turned slowly, stopping so that Rangrim was side on and had a perfect view of what was about to happen. A wicked smile grew on its dark face, exposing its sharp and jagged teeth. The other orcs had stalled his advance and the furious dwarf now seemed forced to watch the scene unfold. Slowly, so as to extend the suffering as much as possible, the orc tightened its grip of the helpless dwarf youth's neck. The captive dwarf scratched and kicked, trying anything to save his own life.

Rangrim was held fast, unable to reach his comrade. The orcs before him blocked his way, and threw occasional stabs and swipes with their weapons to keep him engaged. The surly dwarf searched and tried, but could find no opening to exploit. He turned his eyes to his captured comrade, being ever careful to avoid the haphazard attacks being thrown at him. The young dwarfs eyes showed terror, even as he fought to free himself. Rangrim watched, horror rising in his chest as the young dwarf slowly began to turn first red, then purple. The fight began to leave the youth, and with a flash of the orcs malicious smile and a flex of its powerful muscles, the young dwarfs' struggles ended.

Time seemed to be still for a moment then. All sound and movement ceased, and Rangrim was left with only the scene before him. The young dwarf held limply, while the orcs head was back, extolling in the ecstasy of the kill. That moment, that horrible moment, would stay with Rangrim for all his days. But in that instant, something changed within him. As sound and movement began to resume, he felt not dread but rage rise to fill his being. In that instant, he ceased to be Rangrim, and became an instrument of rage against the unjustness of it all.

The party of orcs laughed, expecting despair in the surviving dwarf. How wrong they were, a discovery made far too late and born forth on the blade of an axe. Rangrim's chosen target fell dead in an instant, the axe resting quite far in its skull. Ripping free his weapon, the crazed dwarf hacked into the corpse with fury, seemingly oblivious to the rest of the group's presence. It was only when they moved forward, crude armor ringing and scaping, that the furious dwarf looked up from what remained of his initial foe. The orcs, even the leader, were given pause then, as the eyes of the dwarf held nothing but malice and death. Those eyes surveyed the orcs, finally resting on the leader of the group, the one who had killed the young recruit.

Ripping free his weapon once more, Rangrim strode forth to exact his vengeance. Two of the orcs engaged him then, with crude thrusts and halfhearted war cries. Rangrim merely swatted the weapons aside, with his rage fueled senses they may as well have been moving a snail's pace. After swatting the strikes wide, he reversed his weapon, and took one orc slightly below the knee. The creature howled in pain, before toppling under its own weight. The rest of the orcs crowded in then, seeking to use numbers to their advantage. To see the battle unfold was to watch a dance of death. An orc fallen, a wound received, but the enraged dwarf didn't care. He drove his axe home again and again, giving far more than he was receiving. His rage gave him power and fortitude, even as it stole finesse.

The fight raged for a short while, until only one foe remained. The sadistic orc looked to the broken corpses of its lessers, then strode in toward the dwarf. While smarter than most orcs, it still was too stupid to realize its peril, and truly believed it could win. Rangrim, his body covered in blood, began to feel his senses return to normal. He looked to the broken corpses around him, several orcs and one dwarf. Sorrow for his lost comrade began to well at his eyes, and he looked up to the advancing orc. The orc brought about his own demise without realizing it, by merely smiling. As Rangrim looked up, his eyes found that sadistic smile, and the rage came again, more furious and red hot. In his mind, he saw the last moments of the young dwarf again and again. That raw memory only served to fuel the fires of his rage each time, and soon his soul burned with a thirst for battle and vengeance once more. No more was he aware of his wounds, and he charged the lone orc.

If the last battle was a dance of death, this battle was the waltz. Back and forth the two combatants danced, weapons flashing across and steel ringing out. For all its stupidity the Orc was skilled, and for a time managed to equal Rangrim. That time ran out suddenly when Rangrim howled and threw himself at his foe. The orc, thinking his foe had made a fatal error, attacked with an overhead chop. Halfway through the motion, Rangrim changed his direction and shot out sideways. Digging his feet into the ground, he stopped his movement and turned, bringing his axe before him in a wide arc. The blade severed the orcs sword arm, and the creature howled in pain.

His foe now disarmed, Rangrim looked upon the creature. Somewhere, deep within his mind, a small voice called out to him to finish the creature. Unfortunately that voice was not in control. The fires of his rage were not satisfied, and he raised his axe once more. The ensuing moments Rangrim would live to regret, as not even an Orc deserved the pain that was dealt to this one. But Rangrim's rage demanded satisfaction and the fallen demanded revenge. Soon enough, his work done, Rangrim stood over the mangled remains of his foe. Blood dripped from him, both his own and his foes, but he felt no pain.

A sound behind him, chainmail clinking, caught his attention. His rage flared again, and he spun leading with his axe. Even before seeing his foe, he felt the axe bite deep, and heard the thud of a solid hit. His foe spun into view before completely falling to the ground, and horror welled somewhere beneath the roaring rage. Before him was not another Orc, but one of the Vigilant, a friend.

The struck Vigilant was a dear friend, and a clan-cousin. Thykum Stoneviper he was called, and now he fell before Rangrim's blind fury. In that terrible moment, memories flooded back to Rangrim, memories of late nights spent in the tavern after guard duty and the laughter shared together over the last two decades. Now all that remained was the final turn of the dance, crimson blood staining pale skin, as his friend fell to the ground.

Behind the fallen dwarf some few other dwarves stood, mouths agape, nervously fingering the handles of weapons. Rangrim, his despair overcoming even his mighty rage, hardly registered them at all. In what Rangrim would later count as a blessing, the Shieldsar thundered past just then, affording an unseen Vigilant the opportunity to get close behind him. An explosion of light erupted in his skull, as the strong blow connected squarely with the back of his head, and in an instant Rangrim fell into the calming embrace of darkness.

Rangrim struggled to return fully to his senses, with the darkness clinging to him as a morning dew might cling to leaves. It was quiet, with only the occasional drip of water to break the silence. There was a chill in the air, almost as if death itself hung about him. Then, in a flash of memory, all returned to him. He remembered the battle, remembered the youth and remembered his fall. His sight now clear, he glanced around, and found himself in a dungeon. He was alone, chained to the wall, bereft of arms and armor, left in rags and treated like the animal he had displayed himself to be. Sorrow welled in him then, but not for himself. His sorrow was for the one he could not save, and the one felled by a blow from a friend.

The sound of boots on stone roused him from his sorrow then. The scraping of metal heralded the door opening, and through that portal strode two figures. One Rangrim recognized as the commander of the Vigilant, the other an unknown human. The events of the battle still ringing through his mind, Rangrim hung his head in shame, not wishing to meet the gaze of his visitors. " Ah, I see you have finally awakened." Said the human, "Tis well you should be conscious for your trial. The tribunal, and the Ruling Master, should be most interested in your explanation."

Rangrim looked up then, to the smug expression of the human and the pained expression of the dwarf. "Thar's to be a trial?" Rangrim asked incredulously, his voice cracking as though it had not been used in some time. The dwarf stepped forward then, shaking his head, "Aye, thar's a trial to be had. Ya need be held to account fer yer actions." The human snapped his fingers, and two human guards stepped into the cell. "Prepare him for travel, then bring him before the Tribunal." the human said to the guards, who responded with curt nods. Then the human and dwarf left the cell, and left the guards to collect Rangrim.

Escorted by the guards, Rangrim shuffled through the halls of the prison. The shackles binding him allowed little movement, and the progress was slow. Finally, the guards paused before a set of large iron doors. Nodding to the door guards, they pushed through and Rangrim followed as quickly as he was able. Beyond those doors lay an ornate chamber, one which Rangrim had not seen before. Before him sat the tribunal, the Ruling master placed high above him. To the side, some distance away from him, stood a dwarf holding an axe. An executioner he wagered, should that be his sentence. He shuffled to the center of the room, and stood waiting for someone to speak.


End file.
